


natural born losers

by deathclub



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Best Friends, Heavy Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathclub/pseuds/deathclub
Summary: "Hey there demons, it's me, ya boy." - Minghao, probably.Minghao is obsessed with death. He probably has a tumblr where he reblogs graveyards and gore and bdsm. And he's worthy of so much more love than he believes.





	1. of starving birds and death things.

**Author's Note:**

> the chapter title if from nicole dollanganger's cement. my queen. [♡](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJNqHkoAclc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **some cws before reading:**  
>  \+ sui and si ment  
> \+ dank 420 blaze it  
> \+ lots of swearing and stuff  
> \+ sex ment

“I _said_ , shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just-“

“Shut. The fuck. Up. Or I’m going to leave you by yourself here. Alone.” Minghao’s cruel whispers overfill the already stagnant room, worsening the feelings of suffocation and decay.

            Joshua pouts behind him. He should be used to Minghao’s acidic tongue and aggressive deposition. In a way, he is. Minghao, though only during the most raw and most intimate moments between his best friend and him, has made sure Josh knew that his slander was only in jest towards himself. Not directed at him. However, Josh is overly sensitive and Minghao is constantly really pissed off about that.

            “Please, don’t leave me here by myself. You know what my number one fear is.”

            “Yeah. Getting possessed. Which isn’t going to happen. There are no spirits here. There aren’t spirits anywhere, you dumbfuck.”

            “Except there is. You can’t tell me they don’t exist. And if they were to be chilling anywhere, it’ll be here.” He bumps into Minghao’s back. He sighs in anger, but Josh’s sympathetic apologies cool the fire. He knows it’s because he stopped abruptly and wasn’t Josh’s fault in any way, but his anger escalates so intensely over the smallest mishaps. _It’s not Josh’s fault._ He turns around to face him. In a rare, yet sheer, moment of empathy he smiles gently.

            “Let’s go downstairs.”

            “I don’t know. I’d much rather stay up here.”

            “Let’s go.” He bites his lips and his eyes widen. The shadows bouncing off his face in the dark mausoleum is delightfully macabre and everything Minghao would love. If he could only see himself.

            “You really believe there could be demons or some shit in here?”

            “There is a definite possibility.”

            “You really-,” Minghao shines his cell phone light downwards facing the decrepit concrete steps. The wreckage of ash and crumbled stone is chaotically scattered on top of what’s left of the staircase, “Be careful. The further it goes down, the shittier it gets. But yeah, you really believe that?”

            “Why?”

            “I don’t know. It just seems horrifying. An afterlife. To live eternity. With no escape.”

            “I think that sounds super comforting.”

            “Of course you do,” Minghao mocks in a whisper, more to himself than to Josh. He lewdly makes a seat out of a bottom level casket shelf. There is just enough room for him to sit slumped with his back against the wall before his head touches the second layer of decaying stone.

            “ _Yeah_ , I do,” Josh retorts with mild anger rising in his voice, “What do you want then? To just rot away into nothing and have that be that? Just darkness. No consciousness. No… Anything?”

            “Yeah.” Minghao fidgets with one of the many zippers on his deteriorating backpack. He pulls out a small bag from the middle pocket. Although the light on his phone has been put to rest, he can sense Joshua’s gaze on him while he spins the small tin can in his hand.

            “Is that what I think it is?”

            “Probably.”

            “You’re doing that here? There are dead people. Don’t you think it’s kind of… Disrespectful or something?”

            “I mean, they’re dead. But in any case, there’s enough to go around. Hey all you lucky dead bastards! If you are here with us right now and want to toke up, just let me know.”

            “You are such an idiot,” Joshua laughs. Minghao lets a tightlipped grin show on his face while packing weed into the bowl of his pipe. His expression takes a dead halt when a light illuminates his face. He looks up to see a disgusting smile on Josh’s face and it makes the punch-ability of his face increase by at least 75 percent.

            “You’re smiling.”

            “Fuck you. You want?” He gestures to the pipe in his hand.

            “No. When do I ever?”

            “Sit down at least,” Minghao flicks the lighter and inhales deeply. His chest immediately feels like its on fire. He manages to cough out, “You’re making me anxious by just standing there and pacing and being all weird.”

            “No. There has probably been dead people on there at some point.”

            “Sit on the floor then.”

            “There could have been dead people there too.”

            “What do you think happens in a mausoleum, Josh? Do they just pile up corpses on the floor and make it a day?”

            “You never know. Some freaky shit could have happened here.”

            “Yeah…” Minghao sighs. He takes another hit. This time deeper and longer. His body is getting used to intensity inside his ribs. “I would love to get fucked down here.”

            “Of course you would,” Josh deadpans. “I was waiting for this to come up. I _knew_ it would. That’s not what I meant by freaky shit.”

            “To get fucked and then _fucked_ , you know? Man, I would totally dig that.”

            “Oh, no. If we are going to get into one of your disturbing fantasies about how you want to die by getting dismembered by some deranged serial killer then I’m out. That’s what Craigslist is for.”

            “Would you really want me to do that?”

            “Do what?”

            He stands up after taking another hit and waltzes over to Joshua. “Find someone who would be willing to skullfuck me with a knife on Craiglist.”

            “No. Why would you even say that? I was joking. Please, don’t really post a Craigslist ad. Geez, you’re always so morbid. I hate it.”

            Minghao’s laughs turn into revolting, dry coughs. “Come,” he rasps, “come sit down.”

            “You’re always like this when you get high.”

            “Like what?”

            “I don’t know, man. Weird.”

            Joshua rolls his eyes when he glimpses at Minghao’s fingers and see the Zippo flick open once again. Minghao pretends to not notice the annoyance in his eyes. He pretends to be oblivious of the reasons why he is so oversensitive about him smoking around him. He knows that because he was raised in such a strict, pious household, he is prone to being awfully judgmental. However, they both know that after years of his friendship with Minghao, he has loosened up his ends quite a bit. Yet, that’s not what Minghao feigns unawareness to. It’s that he gets sad when he’s intoxicated. Sad with a pathetic desperation for closeness. What a nauseating combination. It hasn’t just happened once, but many and many and many times. Helplessness and hopelessness, a barbaric couple. They rip out his organs and string them up like Christmas lights, forcing one unlucky victim to witness the brutal mess and then shove all the pieces inside of him and tie them back together again. The exposure of such depravity and loneliness leaves the bystander forever damaged and traumatized. Just like him.

 

* * *

 

            Last time he got drunk and high, he called Joshua to come over to his house. It was 4:00 a.m. roughly, and he was already sound asleep. The strangled voice on the phone repeated the words _I think I’m dying_ and _I’m sorry_. Over and over and over again. He had his mom drive him to his place. He didn’t, and still doesn’t, have his driver’s license. When he arrived he had to piece together Minghao’s cold, pallid skin. Minghao lied in the barren bathtub. Josh bleached the debauched floor tiles.

            “Everything looks as good as it’s going to get,” Joshua guessed, concentrating on the ground. Concentrating on not looking at the corroding remnants of the boy he loves more than anything in the world. His best friend. Though, those words mean nothing compared to the weight of feelings that engross them. “You think we should go to the hospital? Mom’s out in the car, waiting for me. I can tell her to take us.”

            Minghao nodded. Joshua told him that everything would be okay. He was just going to go get his mom to help him take him out to the car. Minghao pleaded for him not to leave him alone. To leave him by himself. He choked, shoving an unexpected sob back down his throat. His fingers took the shape of Minghao’s chin. So perfect and necessary and it promised him that he was not leaving him. He was only getting his mom. Everything would be okay. He promised.

            Joshua winced and closed his eyes, refusing to catch a glimpse of the stapler puncturing soft flesh. _Fifteen staples._ _There’s so many_ , Josh thought somberly. His fingers like ghosts, trailing above the line of a hostile red line that lied on top of wide, ugly scarlet scars from the past. He sat beside him. Not talking, not looking at anything really. Minghao was reclining, using his arms to prop up his body from underneath him. They sat together on the hospital bed silently. The TV the nurse turned on for them while they waited to see a mental health professional broadcasted muffled Bible verses from behind their backs.

            Joshua cleared his throat. It startled Minghao and he jumped softly. Then played it off as though he was just cold and made a whole scene of gathering up the infirmary blanket and wrapping it around his thin body. That cute little performance was enough to give Joshua enough confidence to smile at him. Finally breaking the silence. He asked him if he was okay. If he felt safe and happy. He whispered, “Not happy. Not safe. But better.”

            Josh whispered, “You know, I would do anything for you, right?”

            Minghao kissed him, still inebriated. His eyes were closed, his mouth open. Josh pushed him away. It wasn’t the first time he had done this. But this time was different. Every time this happened in the past he would make a joke out of the unexpected affection. He would blame it on being sloppy and a mess and ask him to not take him seriously. This time however, his gigantic eyes flashed with terrible dejection. The curves of his pink lips trembled.

            Josh left the room. Not waiting for the doctor to take over caring for his best friend.

 

* * *

 

            “Come sit with me,” Minghao pouts, “How do I get weird?”

            “I don’t know. You just do, okay?”

            But he still sneaks over towards where he is seated. He hesitantly sits down, not lifting his eyes from the spot on the shelf he’s about to intrude. His head tilts, taking in the form of the slouched down boy. Minghao's back is against the grimy wall, his legs folded in front of him, his sneakers held up by the ledge. He imagines himself looking small beside Joshua, even Joshua is slightly short than him.

            “You think you could ever fall in love with me?”

            Josh tsks, “See. This is what I mean by weird.”

            “I hope you never do. You know. I could never love you back, sorry. You’re not my type.”

            Josh abruptly stands. “Whatever. We should go,” Joshua says, interrupting the gross silence.

            “Let me finish this bowl first, at least.”

            “Okay, fine. But then can we- What are you looking at?”

            “Have you ever felt jealous of a bird?”

            “Umm, no?”

           Joshua strolls over to the coffin shelf where his best friend his now lying down on his stomach, poking at a half-decomposed bird. Its wings pulled apart, it’s ribcage exposed and broken, it’s skull caved in.


	2. angels forever, forever angels.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad, soft boys in a playground at midnight.
> 
> You're so cool, you're so cool  
> And I see the future and there’s no death  
> Cause you and I, we’re angels.  
> \- nicole d, "you're so cool." [♡](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRvjBTM5KrQ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some inspo from dead children's playground here, bc im an abandoned/haunted place ho.
> 
> the chapter title is from lana del rey's "angels forever, forever angels." [♡](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAdQ3-e8rO8)
> 
>  **some cws before reading:**  
>  \+ graphic description of si  
> \+ drug ment  
> \+ lots of swearing and stuff  
> \+ nongraphic sex. but very not safe and harmful sex . so dont try this at home kids

Jun Hui is so cool. He’s the type of guy Lana Del Rey would feature in one of her music videos. Slicked back fake blonde hair, white t-shirt with the sleeves folded, skinny jeans with Doc Martens. So, so, so cool. Body of a bad boy, heart of an angel. That’s what Jun would always say they were. Angels. Because angels don’t die.

            They met during the last year of their schooldays. When his hair was long and his skin was tan. They used to sit together in the jagged grass. Their fingers almost touching while he spoke about his girlfriend back home in Shenzhen. He spoke about his girlfriend while he softly folded Minghao’s ear, placing a flower carefully behind it. He spoke about her when his eyes lingered on his lips a little too long. Even when he quit the habit of looking away the moment Minghao caught him. He spoke about her when they sat in his bed one night, and his hand somehow found itself onto Minghao’s thigh. And when it traveled to the crotch of his jeans, and when that motion was repeated again, and again, and again. He stopped speaking of her though one night. It was on the night they drunkenly kissed in Minghao’s basement. What he did say though, was an accidental “I love you,” which he stole back immediately. He didn’t mean it. He was really drunk and forgot who he was with, he said. He was so drunk he didn’t realize that it wasn’t his girlfriend who he had slipped his tongue inside.

            But then he spoke of her again. On the couch of that same basement months later. Breathless, flushed, and completely undressed. Minghao didn’t understand. How they could share each other’s virginities, and yet he still talked about her when it was over. Jun pondered out loud, “I wonder what she’s doing right now? I bet she’s sleeping. She probably looks like an _angel_.”

            The sex, it hurt. It was like a pathetic metaphor for the nauseating ache those words had just bred inside of him. They were unprepared. This wasn’t supposed to happen, after all. Jun used the bottle of hand moisturizer that sat on top of the television stand as lubricant. He didn’t know anything about _this_ particular brand of sex, but he knew that he needed something to make the hole easier to fuck. He was merciless and impatient. He was lucky Minghao likes things rough. The burning was excruciating. Minghao didn’t know how it was supposed to feel. He never had done anything like it before. Neither had Jun. At least, not with another boy. How were they supposed to know? He bit his lip and moaned harshly. Out of pain instead of pleasure, but Jun didn’t know that.

            Minghao has felt nothing but sadness his entire life, but this time, it was worse than anything he could ever dream up inside of his sick head. However, looking back at it, that pain he felt at that moment would be almost pleasurable considering what this boy has caused him up until now. _But he and I are angels. I’m his angel_ , he repeated and repeated and repeated. Silently, to himself. He couldn’t show Jun how disgustingly weak he truly was. To Jun, he was dangerous and wild and a savage. Not an ugly, rotting, sad shell of a boy. Not the monster he himself is stuck with knowing.

            Jun left. And with that, he was left with nothing at all. Except for his impulses. He had fantasized about hurting himself quite often. Truthfully, up until the day he met Jun all he could ever think about was all the ways he could hurt himself, or kill himself. All the different ways and all the possible levels of damage. His fascination with death and violence started as young as he could remember. But as captivated by brutality he was, he wanted no harm to find any other person or thing most of the time. Unless they deserved it, of course. In fact, he has wept on many occasions when he accidentally ended the life of an insect while trying to set him free outside. He’s only in love the idea of death, and of the torture of himself.

            He twiddled with his Zippo lighter. His body still fully exposed to the world, finally harmonizing with the nakedness of his mind. He flicked it on. Anticipating the glimmer of the flame. Without a chance to change his mind, he put his bare forearm to the fire. His burnt skin instantly birthed red, monstrous bubbles that grew from his flesh. It hurt so fucking bad. But he did it again. Another untainted bit of flesh now looked as ugly as he felt. And then he did it once more. At last he allowed himself to cry. But he felt high. The adrenaline caused by the mutilations gave him an euphoria he had never felt before in his life. He felt amazing. And what a better time to actually get high than that moment? He already had the lighter in his hand and everything. So he did.

 

* * *

 

Joshua: _Can we hang out?_

Minghao: _Why?_

Joshua: _I’m bored._

Minghao: _You’re always bored._

Joshua: _So? Let me come over._

Minghao: _You need more friends so you can start leaving me alone._

Joshua: _You would be heartbroken without me. You know it all too well._

Minghao: _Shut up, you fucker. I’m taking you to another cemetery then. This time we’re having a ritual and I’m using you as the sacrificial virgin._

            Minghao rubs his eyes. They ache after staring at the blue light from his phone screen in the dark room. He wasn’t sleeping. Just lying in bed. He spends a lot of his time doing that. He thinks about Jun Hui. And about the first time he hurt himself. That night was full of firsts for him. He traces his fingers over the scars before throwing on a baggy cardigan lying at the end of his bed. Hiding the ugly marks from his parents. They know about the scars from a long time ago, but they thought he was done hurting himself. He had stopped for a while, but then hurricane Jun came back into his life and hit him even harder than before. That’s when Minghao got really, really bad.

            He pulls his backpack off the back of his chair. Digging through many pockets until finding the little cloth drawstring bag. After making sure he has both his grinder and pipe, he flings the backpack around one shoulder and leaves through the doorframe, letting his bedroom door hang agape.

            “Where are you going?”

            “Out front. Josh is coming.”

            “Is he staying the night?” His mother questions. She’s unprepared for guests and becomes irrationally moody when her son has them over unexpectedly.

            “Don’t know,” He mumbles, twisting the doorknob. He shuts the door behind him before his mother could get another word in. He finds a seat on the porch, wondering if he should smoke now or wait. Before he really has time to make a decision, Joshua’s mother’s car pulls up towards the house. He overhears whispers of love and doting. Minghao is aware of the heat in his guts and fury inside his ribcage. It’s unfair and shameful of him, but he doesn’t fucking care. There’s no blood running through his vital veins, only hatred and envy of those who have been lucky enough to know love.

            “Why is your face so fucking weird looking?”

            “What?” Joshua snorted, probably not taken aback by the abrupt insult. It’s not like it’s unusual for Minghao to be a dick at all times for no reason at all.

            “So? What? You’re here now, so what do you want to do?”

            “I’m down for anything,” Josh replies. He sits next to his best friend, watching his face like he’s the most precious treasure God could gift this hellhole earth. Minghao is so soft for this boy. No matter how shitty he is to Joshua, he still adores Minghao to death. He’s too unclean for a boy so pure and untouched by wickedness. “Okay. I mean, I’m down for anything that doesn’t involve you killing me in an occult ceremony or selling my soul to Satan.”

            Minghao rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs, pretending that his entire nightly plans have just been destroyed, “Okay, okay. Maybe next time. But tonight, let’s take a walk.”

            “A walk?” Josh stands up, lacing his fingers together and straightening out his lanky arms. Gross popping noises free themselves from his knuckles and penetrate the silent, humid night air. “A walk to where?”

            “You know the playground up the road?”

            “You mean the one at the old church? The one with the playground inside of a cemetery. Of course you want to go there. I thought you were joking about going to another graveyard.”

            “I never joke about these things, my friend.”

            “Why do you never want to do anything, you know, not related to death?”

            “Death is my only solace,” he jokes, laughing so hard and making the last part almost inaudible. It’s such a tacky and cliché thing to say, but it’s actually pretty true. Even so, he feels like such as pretentious prick saying it out loud and it amuses him a lot. “Okay, okay. I’m only half joking. But I don’t know, I do just really like them, okay? I don’t know what else to say. You really don’t find it kind of, arousing? Maybe arousing isn’t the right word, but it’s hard to explain really. Fuck, I just love it.”

            “Xu Minghao, aroused by dead things.”

            “Well, when you say it like that I sound pretty fucked up. I meant like, it’s just really intriguing.”

            “You _are_ pretty you-know-what,” he responds, trying not to repeat the vulgar language. “But that’s okay.”

            Minghao is glowing. Maybe it’s because of the reflection of the stars flickering down onto his tanned skin, or maybe it’s because he is feeling a rare, but genuine sense of happiness for once. A unique happiness that only Joshua can provide. It’s nice. A necessary break from his usual sick thoughts.

            Minghao stretches out his arms, asking Joshua to help him off the porch like a child. Josh jokingly sighs and takes him by his hands. Minghao’s calloused skin against the smoothness of Josh’s. A charming representation of their contradicting personalities.

 

* * *

 

            His voice is jammed inside his chest, apparently. That’s what he’s whispering to himself anyway. Over and over and over again. But for someone who’s being tormented by an inferno inside his ribcage and whose innards are being engulfed by supposed merciless flames, he’s talking a whole fucking lot. Minghao suddenly feels really guilty about talking Josh into doing this. What if he dies? Can you die from weed? Shit, what if he fucking dies? Minghao tries to stifle a laugh and thinks, _at least we’re in a cemetery_. He could always dig up a plot. Throw his body into a grave. Give some fortunate corpse eternal company. No one would know they were even here.

            “My chest. I think I’m going to die, Minghao.”

            “You’re fine. You’re just paranoid. Most people don’t even get high their first time. It’s probably all in your head.”

            “I can’t breathe. Or at least, it doesn’t feel like I’m breathing. I am breathing, I guess, but I feel like if I forget to breathe I’m going suffocate. Oh Gosh, this is so not who I am. I’ve never even had a sip of beer before in my life.”

            Minghao comforts him by pulling him tightly against his chest, snuggling him until he calms. He rubs his shoulders and plays with his hair. They are sitting on a mulch-covered ground in front of the rusty old swing set. It groans behind them, laughing at their poor life choices. It seems like the wind is even mocking Joshua’s dramatic display.

            “Joshua, you’re imagining this. You’ve never done this, so you’re scared. But I would fucking bet you-,” he pauses, digging in his pocket for anything of value. He pulls out a pack of gum with one lone piece inside of the cardboard packaging, “I bet you this piece of gum that you didn’t even inhale properly. I doubt anything is even in your system.”

            “You’re wrong. I feel it. How can you act so normal when you do this?”

            “Because I’m not a paranoid little bitch who make-believes he’s way higher than he actually is.”

            “Oh Gosh, do you know how there’s a list on Wikipedia of the dumbest deaths? I’m going to be on there.”

            “It’ll read, _fucking idiot can’t handle a little bit of weed. What a fucking dumbass_. Or something. Mrs. Hong will be so proud.”

            Both boys are laughing, embracing each other’s bodies and dumb jokes. Minghao is so, so, so happy tonight. He keeps running his long, slender fingers through Josh’s fluffy hair. “It’s so cute how nervous you are about this whole thing. You’re totally adorable and I love you a lot.”

            “I love you too.” Joshua collects himself, sounding more and more like his normal, sober self with each syllable. “But hey, I don’t know if I like where this is going.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You play with my hair. You tell me I’m cute. Tell me that you love me. Then you either kiss me or start crying. Whichever comes first this time.”

            Minghao grinds his teeth. He sighs, “Why do you have to fucking ruin every moment? Any time I’m happy you fucking destroy it.”

            “I’m not the one who ruins moments, okay? Everything is _always_ okay. Then you have to come on to me. You know I’m not like that. You know how I feel. But yet you constantly force yourself on me.”

            “Force myself? Don’t say it like that! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for just wanting someone to fucking love me.”

            “I do _love_ you. We don’t need to kiss to prove that. There are endless types of love, you know? Why can’t you just be okay with us loving each other as friends.”

            Minghao kicks the swing. Sending it flying into the corroded copper pole that keeps the swing set secure. The clatter of metal on metal is loud and vulgar, causing Josh to leap onto his feet in alarm. “You don’t love me in that way! You know you don’t either. Stop beating yourself up for my unreciprocated kisses. You’re taking your sadness out on me when it’s directed at Jun. And you know this! Stop. Please, just stop doing this to us. You’re going to ruin everything we have. I love you and don’t want to lose you over this. Over anything.”

            Each word vomited from Joshua’s lips is true. Minghao knows this. And it infuriates him. He picks up his backpack from off he ground. It’s dirty and covered in grime from the dank mulch. It’s his turn to abandon Joshua this time.

 

* * *

 

          Minghao sinks into his mattress, swaddled up inside two heavy blankets. The air is hot, but he feels numb to the warmth around him. His mind hopelessly wishes for synchronicity with his body. Cold and unfeeling. He’s in his bed, but he’s drowning in concrete. Cement filling up all the hollow parts of him. Impeding any conscious thought. Leaving him to succumb into nothingness and lamentation. His mind drifts away, and becomes aware only to the sounds of sobs falling off his lips. He’s only brought back to life by a quiet knock on the doorframe to his bedroom.

            “Is everything okay?” A small voice asks. Hesitant, but tender.

            Minghao says nothing. He swallows the humiliation he feels coming up his throat. He’s crying in front of his mother. What a wretched, tragic child he is. Suffocating and trembling and heaving into his pillow. He wonders what it feels like. To go through a pregnancy and into labor. Just to birth a monster like him.

            The mattress cries, sinking by the pressure of his mother’s weight. Her gentle hands kneading his thick hair. She whispers nonsense. _It’s okay, it’s going to be all right, I’m here_. Promises void of fulfillment.

            “I love you.”

            “I’m sick.”

            “While that may or may not be true,” she murmurs. She keeps her voice hushed, gesturing him to rest on her thighs. He shifts himself, so that his head lies on top of her lap. Her fingers are so affectionate it’s burning his scalp, “I still love you nonetheless.”

            Like a baby, he dozes off to his mother’s lullabies. Separating him from the agonizing reality of life. A slight solace he doesn’t take for granted. It wasn’t often that his mom comforted him during his worst times. It’s a moment he hopes to cherish forever and ever and ever.

 

* * *

 

            Minghao inhales deeply, stretching out his stiff limbs. His spine cracks from the strain on his sluggish body. There’s laugher behind his shut eyelids. For a brief moment he’s lost, unaware of his surroundings. Uncertain of who he is, where he is.

            “That sounded painful.”

            “What do you want?”

            His eyes are still pressed together tightly, but he hears fast hands rustling through a bag. “Here. You left this at the park last night.”

            His vision clears, parting ways with any sleepiness. He faces a beautiful boy who’s studying him with an innocent smile and sparkling eyes. Josh is holding his arm out, carrying a little flannel baggie. When Minghao doesn’t retrieve it, he places it silently on his nightstand. He lazily crawls into bed with him. Josh rests his head on his hands, facing Minghao and trying to push a reaction from him. When he stays quiet, Josh gives in and apologizes first, “I’m sorry for being a butt last night.”

            “No, it’s fine,” he says. He lays his head on his hands, mimicking Josh’s posture. “I’m a wreck. It’s not your fault.”

            “I know, but still. I wasn’t being a supportive friend. I have problems with that. With knowing what to do in situations like that.”

            “Sorry if I pushed you to get high.”

            “You didn’t. You can’t blame yourself for something I chose to do. It was stupid. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea.”

            “Yeah,” Minghao sighs. He thinks about last night, and how Joshua licked his lips and, embarrassed, whispered how he wants to give smoking a shot. Minghao chortled, fully doubting he we serious. It conflicted so much with his personality, with his beliefs. But it was in earnest. So Minghao handed him the pipe, allowing him to take the greens. Joshua held it. Shaky fingers and hitched breaths. His cheeks flushed in the dark. Slightly visible from the moon, the only light gracing them in the dreary playground. Minghao sensed Josh’s insecurity about how to properly smoke. He turned his head. Minded his hands as he twirled his fingers. Pretending to lose all focus on Josh. Hoping to ease his discomfort. He heard a stifled yelp and asked him what the fuck he was doing. He had burnt himself, not knowing how to correctly light the bowl.

            “Here, let me do it for you. Put your lips on the mouthpiece. Inhale when I light it, okay? Hold on to the carb- Um, the holes on the side. Let go of them when you’re still inhaling.”

            Joshua collapsed into coughs. He teared up, clutching his chest and whining about how his chest was on fire and how his throat was burned raw. Minghao laughed at him. He offered a bottle of water to him, assuring him that what he was feeling was normal. That he wasn’t going to turn to ash. It was sweet. How innocent he was. How innocent he is. Minghao, with his head on Josh’s shoulder, wondered how possible it was to be so pure. How lucky he was to have him so close to him.

            Minghao smirks, remembering last night’s events. The wholesome fragments of the evening, that is. He rolls off of his bed; his body is still slow from sleep.

            “Shit, I can’t find my phone. You don’t have that too do you?”

            “What? No, w-w-hy would I have your phone?” Joshua stutters.

            “Did I forget my phone too?”

            “No.”

            “Well, I can’t find it.”

            Joshua shrugs. Minghao growls, throwing the blankets off his bed and tossing clothes around from the pile of dirty laundry on his floor. He can’t remember if he put it back in his pocket before he walked off last night. He was too troubled to think rationally.

            “Maybe you left it at the park?”

            “You’re lying.”

            Josh laughs uneasily, “What?”

            “You’re a shit liar. Do you have my phone?”

            “I don’t have your phone,” he retorts in English, which he does when he’s being dishonest. It’s easier for him to act more natural while lying if he’s speaking in a language the other person doesn’t entirely grasp. He continues in Korean, “Why would I have your phone? Why would I lie about not having your phone?”

            “I don’t fucking know.” Minghao waltzes over to the bed. He pushes Josh by the chest, “Tell me where the fuck it is or I’m going to bash your skull in.”

            “Ok, fine. I have it. But, just so you know, I lied to you to protect you.”

            “Protect me form what?”

            “I don’t know. You got a text. It’s in Chinese. I don’t know what it said. But I know it’s bad. Even if it’s good, it’s still bad.”

            Minghao tilts his head. He furrows his brows and slowly articulates, his tongue turning into jelly, “Is it from Jun?”

            Josh nods, his lips pressed tightly together. He winces at the sound of Minghao frantically digging through his bag, like he’s preparing himself to take a hammer to the jaw. “You shouldn’t read it! I was thinking about deleting it. But I don’t know. It felt wrong. I wanted your permission first. Please, let me delete it. I don’t want you to hurt.”

            “What if he said he needs me? That he loves me and he’s made the biggest mistake in his meaningless life? Maybe he finally agrees on the suicide pact I offered. That would be just as wonderful. Any of those are fine. I’m not picky.”

            “This is why,” Josh stands on his feet. His arms are moving, corresponding with each syllable, “I didn’t want you to see this. Your hopes are too high. You’re dreaming up possibilities that aren’t going to happen, probably. I’m _sorry_.”

            “No, okay. I know you’re right. _But_ what if you’re wrong.” Minghao sighs. His fingers are cupped around the phone, trembling and sweaty. The illuminating blue light punishes his eyes in the dim room. It burns, blistering and eroding his corneas. He’s terrified, but lonely and desperate and in love. If the words on his phone read rich with promise, then this nervousness will all be worth it. If it reads something cruel, then that’s okay too. In the end, it doesn’t matter. He’s already broken anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* i have been so unmotivated. i would k*ll for that to change soon though. i have some really good shit written already, but it's so far in the future that i won't be posting it for a hella long time. i hate not writing in order, but i'm trash so w/e. thanks to anyone who cares enough to read my work, which is basically just a self-deprecating shitfest. you're all the true mvps of my life.


	3. the resurrection of a dead heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **some cws before reading:**  
>  \+ ment of scars  
> \+ drug ment  
> \+ lots of swearing and stuff  
> \+ nongraphic sexual content  
> \+ slight homophobia/unsupportive parents  
> \+ internalized homophobia

Noises. They sound differently when you’re alone, in the dark. They sound unkind, emptier, and louder. Minghao’s moans are hollow in his lightless bedroom. His hand caresses his bare skin. From his thighs to his chest. Grabbing flesh wherever he is can. His other hand is wrapped around himself. He arches back his neck, bites his lip. His hips writhe from his own touch. He feels so sexy, imagining the phantom of a boy touching him. He’s aroused by the sounds his body makes, from the sensation of his hands on his naked torso, and by the imaginary boy making himself at home on Minghao’s body. Although, the boy dirtying his mind is not imaginary. He’s all too real and someone very particular.

            His mind is unable to escape thoughts of the text Jun Hui had sent him. He reads it over and over and over again in his head. _She’s gone, I need someone to talk to. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone._ Fuck, what intoxicating words. She’s gone and he needs him. He feels so disgusting. Pleasuring himself while Jun’s heartbroken. But he can’t help it, he’s just so, so, so in love and so, so, so desperate for him. Jun is single and crawling back to Minghao. This bit of hope gives him so much happiness; his body couldn’t hold it all inside of him. So he lets it all out in a sick pile on top of his belly.

            He lazes around for just a bit, before taking the proper measures to clean himself off. But first, he grabs his phone sitting on the nightstand beside him. He tries to smother a grin, reading the text from earlier again and again. But the effort is in vain entirely. He’s so, so, so, so smitten with words tonight. He’s considering the best way to reply. He can’t fuck this up. The boy who, the last time they had spoken, told him to never ever talk to him again is speaking to him first. He’s so happy he could die.

Minghao: _It must be really hard. To lose your love of four years. I hope you aren’t hurting too much. I’m hurting if you are. I’m really, really sorry._

Jun: _This pain is unbearable. I don’t know how to deal with this. She’s the only thing I’ve really known in my life._

Jun _: Also, I thought you weren’t going to reply. ^^;_

Minghao: _Sorry. My phone has been with Josh. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose._

Jun: _Oh. I thought you just didn’t want to talk to me._

Minghao: _I want to talk. I want you to be okay._

Jun: _I’m okay now that you’ve answered._

Minghao feels like crying. Jun Hui’s okay now. _Now that he has answered._ He’s never seen words so lovely. They are lovelier than a tanned boy, resting in tall grass. His skin drenched in the afternoon’s sunlight, warm and golden. His eyes tightly shut, allowing the touch of a hopeful boy who’s fawning over the curve of his lips, the gorgeous span of his shoulders, the hardness of his biceps. His long hair, disarrayed all around his head making his angelic beauty more intense that usual.

   Minghao aches, reminiscing how beautiful that moment was last summer. He aches for it to happen again. But this time more passionate, more genuine than before. He wants Jun to hold him, spoil him, and make love to him in that same meadow. With a flower behind his ear and a feeling of being loved in his heart.

            He tilts his head down, taking in the heap of cum on his belly. His eyes follow the train of waste running down the sides of his ribcage, disappearing into the fabric of his sheets. It doesn’t disgust him anymore. What are his sheets if not dirtied by discharge and gore? It’s only fitting. The sordid bed dressings complement the moldy discarded food and the leftover vomit stains on his carpet. A perfect representation of what mental illness looks like. Not eating enough and leaving the unwanted food to rot away on your dresser, because you’re too depressed to clean it up. Drinking too much and by yourself, so that there’s no one to take care of you and get you to the toilet in time to puke. It’s a repulsive and exhausting life, but it’s all that he has really felt. You can’t tire of a life if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known, right?

            He pushes himself off his bed, finally. His cum has now dried, leaving a sheet of gross, sticky crust on his skin. It causes him to gag when he smooths his fingers along the mess. Not minding his dirtiness, he slips back into his boxer briefs and throws on an unwashed flannel to cover up any visible scars on his limbs. His parents should be asleep by this time, but he just wants to be sure. Just in case. He wants to protect his parents from any grief his suffering might cause them if they notice his injuries. Protect himself from unwanted conversations that will no doubt end up hurting him more. He has had to sit through his father shouting at him, punishing him for his own sadness. For having feelings. It’ll surely happen again if he finds out and Minghao wants nothing much else than for that to be avoided.

            He tiptoes out of his room. The hallway is dimly lit. The only light shining in the dead hallway is from the nightlight from the washroom. The door is unlatched and slightly cracked open, allowing the ugly incandescent glow to fill the thin passageway. Photographs of a family, all made up of corny harmonized outfits and rosy cheeks and hopeful smiles, clutters the tattered outdated floral patterned walls. Baby portraits of Minghao disguising the peeling wallpaper, hiding the insect-eaten wood and discoloration caused by age and decay. Disguising the young man he has become with pictures of a happy, innocent child. Who never broke his mother’s heart or filled his father with shame. A child whose existence didn’t disgust them, and make them regret their choice to ever procreate. It’s not their fault; they didn’t know their child would grow to be so empty. At least they have the memories of that sweet little boy from the prints hanging on the wall. He doesn’t remember when that child was replaced by the monster he’s familiar with today. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter anyway, really.

            He runs his fingers across the baby boy’s blotchy skin and chubby appendages. Dust collects on his fingertips. He wipes the grime on his unbuttoned shirt and eventually makes his way to the sink. He keeps the room dark. The glimmer from the nightlight shines onto his torso as he gently cleans the semen off of his warm skin. The washcloth is so cold it feels as though it’s burning into his flesh and forever leaving behind a scar. A mark to signify his loneliness.

 

* * *

 

Jun: _Hey. Because I have craved nothing but death these past few days my one friend is throwing a party at his house. I guess my lack of will to live is getting annoying, or whatever. And yeah, I wouldn’t hate it if you tagged along or anything._

Minghao: _I mean, I guess. When is it?_

Jun: _Whenever. I can probably come over and grab you now if you’re up for it._

Minghao: _Now? You’re just now letting know now?_ -_-

Jun: _You don’t have to come, you know~_

Minghao: _No, fuck you. Come get me._

Jun: _That’s what I thought~_

Jun: _I’ll be at your place in around 20, so be ready._

            Minghao is playing it cool, but he is high as fuck with the eagerness of being together again with the boy from his wet dreams. The boy from the most secret part of his heart. The only part that’s still capable of pleasant feelings and love. And maybe he’s also a little high from the weed too, but fuck, he feels so good. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his life. The most gorgeous boy in the world is single and wants to be around Minghao. Wants to take him to a party. Wants to be close to him. Perhaps he’ll want to hug him, to hold him in his arms and kiss him and lace their fingers together. Minghao silently packs his book bag, smiling to himself. He puts his grinder and pipe back into its safe place and thinks about Jun’s soft hand cupping Minghao’s cheek, his thumb fondling his chin and jawline. He picks up a lighter and his phone charger and sighs to the thoughts of them tucking themselves away inside a quiet place to tightly embrace each other, making out while the sound of social chatter dissolves from the room so their only focus is on their bodies rubbing against each other and the noises of their tongues smacking together.

            He jumps out of his daydream by the harsh vibration from his cell phone. _I’m here_ reads the message. He throws the bag around his shoulder, not worried by his thoughts of forgotten items he should be bringing along with him. He rushes out of his room, trying to hurry pass his mom who is working in he kitchen. He doesn’t want his vibe to be weakened by his mother’s agonizing questions.

            “Where are you going now?

            He hesitates, but eventually answers truthfully, “Out with Jun.”

            She raises her eyebrows in shock she doesn’t try to hide. “Jun Hui? I thought you were done with that foolishness.”

            “What do you mean _foolishness_?”

            “You know what I mean. With boys. With Jun Hui.”

            “It’s not foolishness,” He whispers so quietly and shamefully it’s almost inaudible. Before he has the time to get emotionally distraught from this conversation, an impatient knocking took his mind off the impending sadness. “I gotta go.”

            He stumbles down the staircase. His knees are weak and trembling, trying so hard to keep the sobs inside of his heartsick skull. He has to be happy now. Happy for Jun. He’s finally about to be with the boy of his dreams again. There’s no time for these bitter tears caused by his mother’s disappointment.

            The screen door screeches as Minghao pushes it outward, exposing a Wen Jun Hui. An unimagined, in the flesh boy who is frowning with annoyance. He tells him they need to get going and that the party has already started. He doesn't understand why Minghao is forever unprepared for everything and how he is perfect and never ever late for anything.

           "But I suppose when you're this handsome, you don't have to waste any time making yourself look good," Jun says. He runs his hand through his hair in a '50s greaser sort of way, smiling dumbly at Minghao.

           Minghao sighs fondly as he goes on and on about how flawless and handsome he believes himself to be. They haven't talked in months, but Jun hasn't changed at all. He feels so fucking at home, walking by the side of the boy who is so insecure he uses arrogance to mask the hatred he has for himself. His self-admiration, counterfeited and forced. But just like everything else about Jun, his acting is superb and without fail everyone believes his act of narcissism and conceit. Minghao tried to hate him for it in the past, but has disregarded his distaste for Jun's deceptive games long ago. He has battled with himself about this for as long as he remembers, but inevitably, he knows they are the same in this way. Presenting themselves as shells of a boy they wish they were, rather than the lost ghosts who live inside of them. Minghao, with his corroding mental health leaving him a masochist. Violence and savagery coercing his soft and weak insides into staying still and quiet. Although now, the line between the real him and his cover is so shaky he sometimes has trouble remembering who he really, truly is. His sad and youthful spirt, bound by chains and rope, silenced probably forever by the viscousness of his corpse. And Jun Hui. So cliché and boring, how his internalized bigotry is all that satisfies him anymore. The flowers that used to grow from his soul whenever he caught some fondness for a cute boy he passed on the way home from school no longer bloom inside of him. The once vivid and fragrant blossoms all died and rotted away the closer he and Minghao became. The innocent crushes were nothing, a trivial flame compared to the love developing so strongly for the other boy. Jun could no longer pass his emotions off as fleeting, pointless feelings of a confused young boy that secretly excited him. He fell in love, and he had no choice but to distinguish that fire by tearing others like him down, including the boy who stole his hopes, of what he considers normalcy, away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is kinda short, but its bc i kind of want to make the entire next chapt take place at the party and its gonna have a different vibe that doesnt rly flow w with this one. finally more members are going to be involved ( ͡º ͜ʖ ͡º) 
> 
> but anyway wow this took forever to write and yet it is still hella short fml. finals week is coming up next week tho and it is severely k*lling my vibe and also my will to live. hope ur all doing well tho and i just want everyone to know ur all wonderful and lovely and i love u. hopefully it won't take me two lifetimes to update next time.


	4. any two things together is a terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway just stopping by to say i love xu minghao more than my own life and i hope he's doing okay
> 
>  **list of cws for this chpt:**  
>  \+ graphic-ish oral sex. heavy sub/dom undertones  
> \+ ment of scars  
> \+ swearing swearing  
> \+ implied internalized homophobia  
> \+ small slut-shamey language

            The house smells of weed and cigarettes and teenage desperation. He's never been to this particular house before, but it looks familiar to him nonetheless. It’s nothing more than the average habitat for the upper middle class you would pass while traveling on endless streets at midnight. They dwell in every town filled with well-off nuclear families. It's unnecessarily spacious and cluttered with impractical decorations that have no purpose other than to show off the owners' wealth. He's overcome with an underlying aversion to this family despite never interacting with them. The collage of photographs of a smiling boy with unnaturally white teeth and undeniably masculine good looks sitting on the coffee table. The pathetic and sappy homemade birthday cards pinned to the wall that are obviously only there to show off how much of a perfect and loving family they are. The nauseating stench of late-stage capitalism contaminating the air. All of Minghao's least favorite things in the world, all bled together into one hellhole of a home. The only solace he has at the moment is knowing that rich kids always throw the sickest parties. And of course, that he's here with Jun.

           Heat pollutes Minghao’s belly as Jun grabs him, pulling him by the forearm. He drags him through rooms infected by loud music and drunken chatter. Minghao doesn't have much time to take in his surroundings. The kids tripping on discarded beer bottles thrown about on the floor, leaving them to spill their own on their crush’s brand new t-shirt they bought to impress the other. The kids strumming their guitars alongside the music storming from the speakers, proudly singing off key. Minghao has noticed however, that this scene resembles the parties he used to crash in high school. He tries to smother his pleasant surprise, but when has Minghao ever been able to suppress his voice?

            “Why does this guy seem kinda cool?

            “What do you mean? Of course he is cool. That’s why I wanted to introduce you to him.”

            “What do you mean?”

           “I don’t know. He’s, you know, _like_ you. Into guys or whatever,” Jun replies so nonchalantly. So indifferently and Minghao doubts himself. Is there a way he properly heard those words? Simple and meaningless to most, but Minghao can hear every bit of nuance in his voice. After all this time apart, without speaking in months, Jun proves himself to be unchanged. The familiarity he first thought was sweet and charming, now feels like battery acid eating through his organs. His thoughts of this endearing boy from his past has turned bitter and repugnant.

            “You’re joking, right?” Minghao is being ripped apart. His entrails are exposed, all sprawled out and open in front of Jun Hui, yet he still chooses to ignore how he dismantles him thoroughly. Avoiding such gruesome sights on display in front of him helps Jun ignore the ugliness of his own deterioration. So, _that’s that_ , Minghao guesses.

           "What? No. Why are you always so mad? Like maybe chill for once in your life.”

           Minghao’s hopeful limbs that felt safe and sound in the hands of Jun regress into heaviness. The scorching returns from the last time those fingers held onto his arm, that night in his basement. Telling him whatever they had is dead and so is Minghao to him. Minghao growls through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. He pulls his arms away from his grip, punching him in the shoulder with a strength that has unfortunately been weakened by grief.

           Jun nurses his shoulder, rubbing away the achiness. “I was trying to help! You’re helping me by hanging out, because I need the emotional support, so I thought I would repay you by hooking you up with someone I thought you would kind of like. But whatever, this is why I cut you out of my life to begin with. You don’t appreciate anyone or anything”

           "Why the _fuck_ would you bring me here then? You obviously have other friends. You shouldn’t have even bothered texting me in the first place.”

           "Why did you answer my text then if that’s how you feel?” Jun pauses, raises an eyebrow and grinning a smile of a man who already knows the answer to the question he just asked.

           "You know why,” he barely whispers. Jun is mocking his rejection. The sickening heat from Jun’s brutality disperses throughout his insides, causing bile to fill up his throat. “I’m gonna be sick. Take me home.”

           “Fuck no. You know how far away you live from here? It takes almost a fucking hour to get back to your place. You’re on your own. Good luck finding a ride.”

           He’s gone. He has disappeared beneath the thickness of staticy base and obnoxious screams from kids who no longer seem so, so cool anymore. He paces the empty bedroom before finding home on a stranger’s bed. He slides his hand under the sleeve of his sweater. His fingers softly trace over the lifted lines on his wrist. A habit he has gained as a result of downfall after downfall after downfall. He closes his eyes, depriving an extra sense to elicit a more intimate sensitivity to the feeling of the hostile welts. There’s a small rejoice in his heart at the start of the stinging of his eyes. He welcomes any sort of pain that infects his body at the moment. He accepts his tears, feeling too weak to put up a battle to stop them from falling. How’s he getting home? He’s never been one to make conversation with anyone, especially strangers. And how would he even go about asking someone to drive him an hour without any sort of payback. He doesn’t have any money to pay for the gas they would waste on his pathetic existence. And he doesn't have any money to catch a bus or train. Maybe he’ll walk. Perhaps the universe will give him a break finally, and he’ll be picked up by some perverted truck driver. Who will disembowel him and bury his corpse to rot away in a field somewhere where no one will ever find his remains. Maybe the same meadow where he and Jun Hui shared their first kiss.

           An exaggerated cough blooms from the dark room. It plucks apart the equally dark line of thoughts away from the owner of the mind they inhabit. Petals being aggressively pulled off by the steam in one angry tug. Minghao lifts his eyes. They scrutinize a boy nervously keeping put by the doorframe, staying safe from any awkwardness that walking in on someone pathetically crying by himself will inevitably cause. His nervous hands fiddle with the uneven strings on the hood of the sweatshirt. In the lightless bedroom Minghao is able to make out a somehow familiar face. Although, that makes no sense. He’s never met anyone from here before.

           “Um, I’m sorry. But this is my parents’ room. There are, um, other quiet places here for you to cry in if you, um, want to. I could show you if you wanted.”

           Minghao snaps his tongue, hoping the boy will sense the act of aggressiveness in the sound. He clutches the strap of his backpack that hangs on one of his shoulders and makes sure to purposely shove him as he exits the room. That’s why he recognizes him. It’s the fucker from the family portraits. The boy Jun wanted to give him away to.

           “Hey, um, I’m sorry if that came out rude. I’m not trying to be impolite or anything. I just don’t want anyone fucking up my parents’ shit,” he laughs. A sound so endearing it sends an intense malevolence through Minghao’s veins, surly turning his cheeks unmistakably redder than they already are from crying. “And I’m sorry again, but, um, do I know you?”

           Minghao clicks again, emphasizing his malice a bit more than before. He turns around with a roll of his eyes, and starts to make his way down the hallway.

           “I’m sorry. I just don’t want strange people in my house, you know?”

           “Say sorry one more fucking time. I fucking dare you,” Minghao hisses. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.”

           “Why are you here?”

           Minghao sighs, “I’m a friend of Jun’s.”

           “Oh! No, no, then yeah, that’s totally fine. I-,” he stumbles on his syllables. It’s kind of sweet, and for a split moment Minghao’s hatred for him deteriorates and is replaced by a mix of fondness and ruefulness from the cruelty he punished him with unfairly. After All, this boy takes no fault in Jun’s wickedness. He’s just an innocent bystander, being devoured by Jun’s lack of love.

 

* * *

 

            “You’re cute. Do you know that? You’re a cutie.”

            “And you’re really drunk.”

            “Not as drunk as you.”

            Minghao smiles, embarrassingly wide. There’s pain in his cheeks. He’s been smiling a lot tonight. The muscles inside of him aren’t used to this sort of happiness. He delights in it though. The burning in his face. There’s nothing that can repair the damage that Jun has caused him, but this… This comes closer than any other possible option.

            “... Hey.”

            “Sup?”

            Mingyu giggles like a child. “You’re cute.”

            “You’ve already said that.”

            “Maybe I have.”

            “You totally have.”

            “Hey,” Mingyu repeats, his smile fading finally, “why were you crying earlier?”

            “No reason.”

            Suddenly Minghao feels his head clear, as though his body is ridding of all the alcohol in his bloodstream. All his heart wants is to leave all the feelings of Jun to die tonight. Just for tonight. Yet again, here they are, overflowing inside each and every blood vessel and it drowns him out. He breathes quickly, his body heavy and it’s suffocating him.

            “If you don’t want to talk about it. That’s okay, too. Just want to make sure you’re not too sad.”

            “No,” Minghao whispers, shaking his head, “I’m not sad.”

 

* * *

 

         Minghao’s tongue draws lewd sketches of desperation with spit and precum along Mingyu’s shaft. He’s unsure as to what he’s really doing considering he’s never done this before nor has he been on the receiving end either. He only knows that he needs a short break from the abuse his mouth is enduring. The inner walls from inside his throat are being all sorts of beat up from the repetition of harsh face-fucking. It makes him feel so sick he might throw up. And he doesn’t want to be _that guy_. The one whose story is told for ages at every house party, because he threw up on a dick while deepthroating. No one wants to be that guy.

           After spending an impressive amount of time giving attention to his balls, Minghao sighs and prepares to suffer again from the assault of taking Mingyu’s whole cock like the pretty little slut Mingyu tells him he is. He immediately chokes and doesn’t know how much more of this misuse his throat can handle. It feels so fucking repulsive and terrible, but he loves it too fucking much to ever even consider stopping. Everything about feeling so degraded turns him on more than anything else possible. Minghao looks up at him through soft lashes and tear-filled eyes. Gagging each time it slides too deep inside of him. At first he was humiliated, apologizing profusely for being such a shitty ameatuer at giving head. But Mingyu told him he loves it. That it’s so fucking hot to watch and hear him gag on his cock. Minghao thinks it’s gross, but whether or not it’s because of some sadist kink or because he’s going on an ego trip from the confirmation that his dick is so big it’s impossible to swallow without being suffocated, he understands the appeal either way.

           The muffled baseline seeping in from the other rooms means nothing to Minghao. The only noises he is surrounded by are filthy and disgusting and so, so, so hot. The squelching of Mingyu’s wet cock from his steady rhythmic thrusting into Minghao’s mouth and his cute little sucking sounds are so erotic. He’s embarrassed by how turned on he is from the noises his own mouth is making. He hums around his dick, making sure Mingyu knows just how desperate he is for him. Mingyu caresses a soft palm under his chain and on the side of his face before giving Minghao a pathetic slap on his cheek. His strangled moans beg for more violence. The blows to his face become harder and harder each time Minghao whines on his cock. The crudeness of skin slapping against skin and the intense stinging building more and more is emphasizing the agonizing need to touch himself. His free hand travels up his thigh and onto his own throbbing dick. He impatiently rubs the outside of his jeans, whimpering as he messily works the bulge in in pants.

           The burn swelling inside his throat and on his face win some relief when the pain is shifted from his mouth to his scalp. Mingyu has a white knuckled grip on his hair, pulling his head back so roughly his neck snaps back and releases himself from Mingyu’s cock with an obscene _pop_. A string of saliva being the only connection now between Minghao’s lips and his dick.

           “Get off of your knees,” Mingyu demands. The burning on his head is so unbearable he has no other choice anyway. He complies. Pouting up at Mingyu with ruddy cheeks and puppy dog eyes. Tear finally traveling from his ducts down to to his chin.

           “Oh my gosh. Are you okay? I’m sorry, I’m-.” The dominate man disappears so suddenly, causing the change in atmosphere to be jarring and strange. His voice lost all discipline and terror, and he is now sadly attempting to hold back tears.

           Minghao grumbles, rubbing away the wetness from his face like a child. “Yes. I’m _fine_. You’ve asked me this, like, a billion times already. It’s really ruining everything, thanks.”

           “I just.. I felt so, so, so bad hitting you. I know you asked me to, but that was before we actually started fucking. Now that I’m actually doing it I feels really, really bad.”

           “It’s fine.” Minghao lifts his head to kiss his lips. His lips thin and chapped, and so different from Minghao’s. They are puffy and smooth from their constant sucking and sliding on Mingyu’s erection. “There’s nothing you can do to me that I wouldn’t want you to.”

           “Then in that case…” He says, gruffing out a moan into Minghao’s open mouth. He pushes his tongue so deep inside his mouth it almost touches the back of it, but regardless of how deep it goes it’s a relief compared to length of his dick. “I wanna be inside of you.”

           “You just were,” he teases.

           “No. I mean _inside_ of you,” he groans. He caresses this chest, his tummy, his thighs. He palms his dick for a sweet second before moving slightly under swollen area. “Inside of you, _here_.”

 

* * *

 

           “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

           Minghao scrunches up his nose in protest, “No.”

           “No, you really are. So, so, so pretty and handsome.”

           “Shut up, you dweeb.”

           Mingyu breaths out a happy sigh. His smile is brighter than the sunlight shining through the transparent curtains that hang over his window. Minghao wonders how he’s able to deal with that every morning. The light seeping through, waking him up from his slumber and burning his corneas. Minghao prefers his room as dark as possible. In the morning, and all other times of the day.

            “Hey,” the boy mumbles, stretching his limbs that are probably stiff from sleep, “you are really beautiful. Don’t say you’re not.”

            Minghao doesn’t know how to respond, so he only answers with a shy _thank you_. He’s unsure why this stranger is being so kind to him, especially considering all the filthiness and degradation he stuffed him last night.  The evening before he was spewing the words _whore_ and _slut_ and Minghao’s pretty sure he reminded him of what a _worthless piece of shit_ he was a few times. And now, with the daylight filling the bed with its warmth, he’s cooing lovely and adoring words into Minghao’s soft hair.

            “Do you tell every boy who you hook up with that afterwards?”

            “No, only the deserving ones.”

            “Deserving? How so?”

            “I mean, only the ones who are truly pretty as you.”

            “Stop it,” Minghao snaps. He doesn’t understand why it’s making him angry so abruptly, but it is and he feels the warmth of abhorrence leaking from his veins and bleeding through his skin, turning his cheeks red with rage. Suddenly he hates himself for letting himself get so pathetic over Jun Hui’s rejection that he let some fuckboy stranger pound him into the mattress until he was a weak mess who forget who and where he was. He sits up on the bed. His hisses from the pain inside and on his ass. Another reminder of his self-hatred for letting this happen. He groans after realizing he has to climb over the other boy to get off the bed due to the mattress being shoved up against the wall on his side. He half-expects him to pull him down on top of him while he struggles to get off of his resting body, but he doesn’t even try to touch Minghao. He’s thankful for at least that much.

            “Are you leaving? Do you need a ride home?”

            “No, I’m fine.” This is stupid. Why did he say no? He knows he needs a ride.

            “Well, can I at least get your name?”

            “No.”

            “Aw, come on. I gave you mine last night.”

            “You did? Well whatever, I don’t remember. Besides, I don’t give a fuck what your name is,” He lies. He remembers his name. How can he forget about the one and only Mingyu?

            “So what, that’s it? All you wanted was a quick fuck? I thought we were really getting along.”

            “Are you fucking joking? I cried into your shoulder and then you fucked me raw on your bed during your own party. Yeah, you _really_ care enough about me to give a shit. _Right_.”

            The other boy winces so briefly Minghao almost didn’t catch it. There’s an ephemeral air of pity filling his lungs until he remembers he has decided to hate this guy again.

            “I’m sorry. I mean, I guess it does sound really shitty when you put it that way. I didn’t mean to. I mean, do you think I took advantage of you? Because fuck, I didn’t mean to. That’s not at all what I was thinking. I just really liked you and thought you felt the same. We even talked about it beforehand. Talked about all the weird stuff we both were into and wanted to try. But fuck, I’m so sorry if I pushed your boundaries.”

            “Oh,” Minghao whispers, unexpectedly feeling soft for this other boy, “I’m sorry.  I really don’t think that at all. I’m just a dumbfuck who needs to make everyone feel bad, I guess.”

            “It’s okay. I just don’t want you to think I tried to hurt you. And like, take advantage of you when you were drunk and sad. Because I just, I don’t know, just really liked you. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you know? I was really wasted. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

            Minghao bites his lip, so surprised that a boy exists in this world that is so honest and truthful about his feelings. It touches him in ways that Jun Hui never has before. Of course, Jun has touched him, but only physically and in ways he could avoid all emotional confrontations. It’s hard to talk about the monsters inside your mind when you’re jerking off the boy sitting on your lap.  And that’s all Jun has ever done for Minghao.

            “I don’t think that you tried to hurt me. But I still should get going. Thanks for the fuck,” he murmurs, throwing on his t-shirt, the last item of clothing he needs on his body before leaving this boy to his room by himself.

 

* * *

 

            “Hey,” Jun says. Hurriedly removing his body from the sofa. He must have slept there last night.

            “What are you still doing here?”

            “I was, um, waiting for you.”

            “Why?”

            “To take you back home.”

            “I thought you wanted me to find a ride?”

            Jun bites his bottom lip. His keeps his eyes focused on his own fingers. His thumbs twirling around each other.

           “No, I… I’ll take you home,” he says under his breath.

           “Oh. Okay. I mean, if you want to.”

           “I do...,” he trails off, “Where did you sleep?”

           “With Mingyu.”

           “You fell asleep with him?”

           “I mean, we did what you wanted us to. So, yeah.”

           “Wait do you mean ‘ _what I wanted_?’” There is no missing the anger in Jun’s voice. His tone is harsh compared to his previous sweet voice. “Did you let him fuck you or something?”

           “Yeah? Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

           “You know what? Nevermind. You can find another ride. I’m leaving.”

           “Wait! No, Jun!” Minghao chases after him, grabbing tightly onto his shoulder. He turns him around. He’s faced with a Jun he’s never witnessed before. A Jun with a rampage in his eyes he can’t recognize. “Please. Take me home.”

           Jun grabs his arm with a violence he has never experienced from this boy. “No. Get the fuck away from me. Tell Mingyu to take you home. Since you whored yourself out for him last night. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

           Minghao squeezes his eyes shut to the sound of the front door being slammed shut. He left. He is really leaving him there by himself. The spark of hope and happiness that filled his bones and tendons just moments ago has now evaporated and turned into something bitter and nauseating. Making the acid in his stomach char his throat and leaving him with nothing but the handprints of the boy who handled him last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title is from yves olade's “bloodsport.”
> 
> sorry it's been awhile. this bitch has failed out of uni due to extreme mental health issues and have had too much too deal with lately than to actually write??? which says a lot bc i use writing as a way to get all of this shit out (if u couldn't tell that already lmao.) tldr im a bpd mess but hey, at least we're here and im updating right?????
> 
> i wrote this sober except the ending, so that's something. i hope the wine hasn't effected my already shitty writing in this chapter???? because i love you all so so so so much.  
> and i love minghao so so so so much. and would d*e for him. 1 billion times.


	5. hidden in bones and muscles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 藏在肺裡的尖叫 (A scream that hides in the lungs)  
> 藏在骨頭和肌肉裡的 (Hides within your flesh and bones)  
> 沒有爆破前 毋庸置疑的 (There is no way for a cure)  
> 都會揪緊成病 (It becomes a disease)  
> \- grimes, "scream." [♡](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUe9rnucPoU)
> 
> minghao is the most important person in the world. mingyu is a pure boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, the title is a bad google translation from one of the lines from grimes's song "scream." idk man, i jsut preferred that over the actual translation.
> 
> also, stay tuned for the end notes if u want excuses and a sob story regarding my lack of updates. or dont. that's okay too.
> 
> also, also. there's not a plot hole in this. i started writing more to this and decided i needed to post this much for now bc im impatient and probably some of u are too. so if something seems off, its not.
> 
>  **list of cws for this chpt:**  
>  \+ that dank ganja  
> \+ ment of scars  
> \+ swearing swearing  
> \+ non- graphic sex  
> \+ ref to sui

He tries with all of his might to figure out what Mingyu is feeling right now. He wants nothing more at this moment, in the car alone with him, to rip him apart from the inside out. To travel inside his skin, his bones, his tendons. To know what he is thinking about as he pulls his car into Minghao’s hometown. Minghao swears Mingyu was looking inside of his mind on the drive home, so he wants to do the same to him. He wonders if he only perceives him as barely living and diseased. He wonders if Mingyu could see past that. If he ever could. To see who he really is, deep inside. Beneath all the trauma and rage. The suggestion that this boy’s opinions on him even matters at all to him frightens Minghao. He’s only just met him, but yet his hands tremble softly with slight nervousness as he presses the power window switch. Fearing Mingyu’s scrutiny and pity.

As the passenger window sneaks cool summer morning air inside the vehicle and blows into his face, he allows himself to think deeper about the other boy’s perspective of him. The dust from his pershing body floats forcefully from his decaying skin into the lost wind as they pass through the veins of endless roads. Passing abandoned farmer’s fields and forgotten homes. A mellifluous song seeps out of the car speakers. In a language Minghao doesn’t really understand. He catches a few words here and there, and he feels such a connection to them. These words dance inside of his head and punch him in the guts. He may not share the same native tongue as the man on the radio, but he relates to him in ways no one else can.

Minghao studies him some more. Memorizing the elegant flow of his wrist as he spins the steering wheel. His other one limply hangs out the window. He looks so cool and composed. Like every movement of his body, from the way he clears his throat to the movement of his hand floating from outside the of window and up into his hair, is well thought out and concise. Even the way his eyes scan the brightly colored toys that decorate the front yards of homes from worn-down trailer parks. Kaleidoscopic hopes rusting away from the dew littering the grass, alongside the optimism of the aging children who are slowly growing too old for such playthings. Big wheels and baby dolls left behind by the kids whose parents did the same to them. The decrepit warehouses with chipping brick and cavity-filled roofs. Long gone are the buildings. Now sit the empty shells of past dead dreams. Ghosts of people who once had bigger ambitions than what those factory walls held inside of them. They are slowly wasting away, with boarded up windows and all marked up with graffiti.

The weight of Mingyu’s judging eyes lie heavy on him. This is not the world Mingyu lives in. He’s from a life so unlike his own. There are no four-story mansions engulfed in tidy shrubbery or Ferraris lining driveways in Minghao’s existence. Their obvious unlikeness is shameful, and he suddenly considers how likely it is for him to die from throwing himself out from the car door.

“You’re so quiet.”

“It’s not like you’ve really said anything either.”

Mingyu’s smile is crooked and his laugh is soft and breathy. “I guess you’re right. It’s just,” he sighs and pauses, but slowly continues, choosing his words carefully, “you seem. I don’t know. Like you don’t _want_ to talk.”

“You’re-” Minghao starts, but is stopped by the robotic woman’s voice bleeding out from the GPS telling them to make a right. “Actually, you know what? Just drop me off right here.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’’?

“I mean no. This isn’t where you live.”

“Just fucking drop me off.”

The car halts, the wheels crying out beneath the weight of the iron and steel. The vehicle tremors around them. The seat belt locks and Minghao gasps at the sudden impact of his chest against the strap. It’s not so much painful as it is startling, though he massages the spot on his chest where the uncomfortable sensation still lingers.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck are _you_ doing!? Am I _that_ unbearable to be around that you would rather get off-,” he pauses and gives the GPS a quick glance, “seven miles away from your house? I just.. I just don’t understand you! Last night, Minghao, was really awesome. Like, I know you’ve been screwed over or whatever. And that hurts and shit. But holding a grudge and being pissed off at everyone and everything is unattractive.”

Minghao moans. Without thinking, his jaw clenches and his fingers are drawn together into fists that lie on top of his thighs. Always, his natural reaction is to fight. With aggression consuming what’s left of the contents of his heart, it’s the only way he knows how to cope with contempt. His breathing hitches, fueling the burning inside the walls of his already dry throat. It has been awhile since he’s tried to stop his anger. His rationality comes undone, and he’s given up on struggling to conceal his ugliness. The boy who once had a thread of fortitude left inside his veins is dead and gone for good. His lifeless body now carelessly jammed inside a box, alongside the remaining bits and pieces of a time when Minghao still felt alive. Kept hidden underneath the fractured floorboards under his bed frame to be forgotten, but not fully lost forever. He doesn’t have the courage to part with him entirely quite yet. It’s disgusting and pathetic and hopeless. But the tenderness he has for that boy infects his chest some nights. When he lies awake in his lightless room and caresses his thumb over the rough skin covering the palm of his other hand. Allowing himself to sob into the used up fabric of his pillowcase. Pleading for him to come back.

“It’s unattractive that you get so attached to someone after one night of rawing them.”

“That’s not why! And I’m not.. Attached, okay? I just like people a whole lot and really quickly. Especially when I feel some sort of connection, or whatever.”

Minghao sits back into his seat. Mingyu follows. They sit in silence, minding only the sounds of cars passing their idle vehicle and the air fresheners hanging from the rear view mirror that rattle with each gust of wind. Eyes fixated on everything ahead of their view. Hyper focused on avoiding any contact with each other’s gazes. Minghao’s legs, hands, lips. They all feel so heavy. The weight of awareness immobilizing his limbs and making them ache with desperation to not push this one away. He’s familiar with the pattern in which people behave around those who are beyond repair. In the beginning, they make promises of unconditional devotion. To always be there for him in his darkest moments. Then piece by piece, the fondness they once secured him with breaks apart and fades until wasting away into nothingness. While Joshua has proven himself to be an outlier so far, he’ll end up giving up on him too eventually.

Minghao is oblivious to the grinding of his teeth and the redding of his cheeks. He recoils to the sound of a consistent honking right outside the car doors. He catches enough of the words yelled through the open windows to gather that people aren’t too delighted about a car parked abruptly in the middle of the lane.

“Fuck off, asshole!” Mingyu bellows back at the man in passing. Minghao’s not sure if the guy even heard any of it, and he really doesn’t care at all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Mingyu. Or to no one, but the chilly air surrounding him.

“You don’t have the be, okay? I get it. I mean, I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve had to put up with, other than Junhui being a massive dickweed. But listen, okay. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I care. I know we just met. And yeah, you’re right. It is ugly how quickly I attach myself to people. I hate it so much how I have to care so much about everyone. But I can’t help it, so here we are.”

“So, you think we should, you know, not fuck around in the middle of the road anymore?”

“Yeah, that sounds ideal.” Mingyu switches the gear to _drive_.

“Hey, you mind if you hang around for a bit at my place? If you wanna."

Mingyu’s face glows at the promise of being able to spend more of his time with him. Or at least, that’s what Minghao is hoping.

 

* * *

 

“Who is this?” Minghao’s mother asks carefully in Mandarin, assuming the boy in question isn’t going to pick up on anything being said.

“A friend,” he sighs, in a tongue that coordinates with hers.

“What he is doing here? I’ve never seen him with you before. How many times do I have to tell you not to bring people in the house without asking me beforehand?”

“It’s Mingyu,” he gripes. He senses Mingyu’s body stir at the recognition of his name mixed within all the syllables he doesn’t understand. “He has a long ride home, so he’s gonna chill for a bit. We’re leaving again anyway in a minute, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Josh’s.”

“I guess that’s alright,” she mutters. She catches ahold of his elbow as he turns in the direction of his bedroom, “He is so good-looking!”

“Mom, he’s like my age.”

She giggles with her hand over her mouth. Her eyes are clear and beam in a girlish brightness he is familiar with. “So he’s legal!”

  

* * *

 

 

“My mom thinks you’re hot,” Minghao murmurs, rolling his eyes at his mom's words. At the stupid fucking little grin Mingyu is trying to conceal. It makes his thin lips appear even smaller and his chin wrinkle. The curtains are impeding any sunlight that isn’t already being hidden by dark clouds from leaking into his bedroom. But yet, his eyes are able to make out all of his features perfectly. He sits on his bed and waits of him to take the conversation in another direction.

Mingyu is now a smile full of white teeth and pointed canines. He catches him staring and teases, “You couldn’t disagree with that, could you?”

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“Am I? Fucking annoying?”

The phrase is short and would otherwise be meaningless, though right now they leave indents inside his lower belly. It’s more so the way his voice lowers and shifts into something destructive, than the words themselves.

“You are,” he matches his darkened voice. He stares up at him from the bed where he sits. His eyes string along each movement his body makes as he settles his unnecessarily large frame right up against Minghao’s smaller one.

“But am I hot, too?,” Mingyu whispers. He’s all lidded eyes and lazy lip bites and a tone so sensual Minghao melts into honey right in front of him. And he hates this. He hates that this is probably why he wanted to hang out. But there’s such a putrid aroma encompassing his lungs that suffocates him and makes his eyes water. That feeling, reminding him of his worth and desires. He’s always dreamt of being the type of boy that guys only use for their own pleasure. He might as well put his body to use while it’s still alive, just taking up space.

“No.” Minghao shakes his head. He pouts and immediately fades into a pliant and enticing mess in front of for him. His hard surface evaporates and exposes his docile, heartbroken insides who want nothing more than to be loved and worshipped. His arousal is thick and pulsating inside each vein in his malnourished body.

“Mmm,” Mingyu basically purrs, “that’s not what you said last night while I was fucking you. When you were crying about how hot I am and how much you love my huge cock.”

Those words poison Minghao with recklessness and horniness and the desperation to be desired. He can taste Mingyu’s fingers cupping his thin, but fit thighs. His fingers squeezing just a little too tightly. His lips, still chapped and rough, meet his. Open mouthed and needy. They are all teeth and tongue and sloppiness. One hand still firm on his one thigh, while the other travels higher. His soft palm pressing against Minghao’s still limp, but twitching cock.

“Hey.” Mingyu pulls away from his mouth. The disgusting sloshing of wet tongues and lips stilling.

“Hey,” Minghao whines. Feeling intoxicated from the eager hands and hungry eyes on the other boy. He knows now, that all Mingyu wants is to use his body. All of the “I care about you” shit? Just a performance. He doesn’t care. He only wants to be wanted. Even if it is for just a few minutes.

“Can I fuck you?”

He moans in response. It’s all he wishes.

“I need you to use your words.”

“Please.”

“Please, what?”

Minghao groans in annoyance, “Come on. Why are you like this?”

“I just want to make sure, you know? Make sure you consent.” He cups Minghao’s cheek, soaking up the rising blush on his soft skin. Minghao leans into him, closing his eyes and anticipating a pair of apricot chapstick flavored lips on his. But rather than his mouth, he felt the pressure of Mingyu’s thumb rubbing against his bottom lip. His jaw unfastens and allows the digit into his mouth. His tongue wraps around it and licks and sucks until he moans in submission.

“Mm, you like that, don’t you?” Mingyu hums, in response to the whiney noises escaping his lips from the friction on his one nipple. His fingers are under his shirt, wet from spit and circling and pinching the skin. “You are so noisy. Yeah? You like that?”

“I fucking love it.”

Mingyu’s mouth falls to his throat. On his collarbone, his adam’s apple. All while continuing to give his nipple attention. The pressure of a warm tongue covering his skin explodes in his chest. Seeping into his organs and filling his sinew and bones and every little bit of his being. Making him shiver and break into pieces under his touch. The exhilaration of so many sensitive parts being touched at once is overpowering. All he wants to do is fall back and endure all the ugly things the other boy wants to do to him. He’s such an empty boy and craves to be filled. Stuffed to the brim with intimacy and affection.

So, he does that. Lies on his back on his mattress. A burial place for his withering self-worth. At last, laying to rest the final parts of him that still imprisoned any humanity.

 

* * *

 

Bare knees and shoulders. Bound together by fornication and bad mistakes. Skin on skin touches that feel much more personal and exposed than the love that was just made. All wrapped together into a blade that slits his naked chest, disgorging out his disgust for himself. His blood and bowels all on display for Mingyu to mock and degrade.

Minghao leans back against the wall, still hugging his knees. He’s only slightly annoyed at Mingyu for following his lead. They’re on the floor, hardly clothed. Unspoken words and heated flesh grazing one another. Shy hands brushing knuckles, palms, and wrists. He breathes, enclosing himself in the darkening room around him. It’s early evening and the room is becoming as dark as the atmosphere between them.

“Stop staring.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, then stop staring.”

“I just. I just wanna know if you’re okay.”

“Im fine,” Minghao scoffs. He grudgingly throws his arm behind his back. He knows what Mingyu is glaring at. What he’s asking about.

“Are you?”

He answers with a snort. The joints in his legs pop and the hardwood beneath his sockless feet creak as he stands up. Mingyu smirks to himself, finding amusement from the flush that blossomed between Minghao’s shoulder blades. A reminder of the time spent leaning against the wall, resting upon one another and entwining fingers. His eyes soak up his body. It’s barren, saving his boxer briefs. Yet, again his face falls. Minghao’s grimace tugging at the inner valves of his heart.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“Don’t be,” Minghao shrugs. He’s growing ill from Mingyu’s pity. For his disfigurements that have scattered his arm. For breaking his body from sloppy sex. There is no endearment in his sympathy, only annoyance.

“You smoke?”

Minghao cringes again as he sits on his bottom, making sure Mingyu view of his face has been cut off. His delicate fingers are lazy, working on the lid of a medicine bottle.

“Wait, hold up! I thought we were just smoking.”

“Calm the fuck down. I rolled a few before the party last night. But I forgot to grab them before I headed out, I guess.” His throat tightens around a vile distaste for himself. He remembers why he forgot them. He was so disgustingly inebriated by false hopes and promises that Junhui was the only priority inside his sick head. But he continues, “I just store them in here.”

“You can take the first hit,” he says, passing a blunt and a lighter to Mingyu.

“No, you take the light.”

“Why?” You can’t do it yourself?”

“Yeah, but-” Mingyu laughs through a clenched jaw, keeping the joint safe from falling onto his lap, “Yeah but, isn’t it sexy though? Having a hot guy light up for you?”

“I don’t know,” he giggles. Genuinely and sweetly. His eyes are radiant and his smile is pure for the first time since he’s met him.

“I think it is.”

“You think I’m sexy?”

Minghao flips open the lighter, complying to Mingyu’s request. He loses himself to his eyelashes adorning his cheekbones as he shuts them and inhales. And the shape of his lips as he pushes the air out from his lungs, smoke swelling from his mouth. He’s so beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know. it's been a hot minute. but in my defense, ive been dealing with a lot these last few months. i've been in the emergency room and have had to deal with many, many doctors appointments. also on top of everything i lost my long-term boyfriend which has been excruciatingly hard for me. so i've really had problems focusing on anything.
> 
> i really hope u understand bc i really, truly love writing and everyone who cares about it. im gonna try to do better!


End file.
